Entanglement
by Michael Cutter Fan
Summary: Cyrus and Connie make a drunken mistake, setting off a rather interesting chain of events.
1. Chapter 1

**Note: **It's been three years since I last updated, and I couldn't be more excited to be writing again! I won't be updating _Falling _anymore, considering how shitty my writing was back then. I won't be deleting it, but I will be starting over with this story. Premise is similar to _Falling_, and post-_Rubber Room, _starting right after Van Buren's fundraiser.

* * *

Maybe it was because Jim Benson was behind bars. Maybe it was because Anita was engaged, maybe it was even the alcohol, but Connie hadn't been able to stop smiling all night.

She had a few more drinks than she should have, which was uncharacteristic of her. But there was reason to celebrate, and she spent the night nursing a Scotch and laughing along to Lupo's stories about shenanigans at the precinct, and his retelling of the Benson case.

Connie stumbled a little as she walked out of the bar and onto the sidewalk in search of a cab. She squinted at her watch. It was almost midnight, and there wasn't a cab in sight.

"Connie!" It was Lupo, coming out of the bar.

She turned around, a little surprised. "Leaving too?"

"Yeah, but you forgot your jacket." He handed over her black pea-coat.

She laughed as she slipped it over her shoulders. "Can you tell I've had a crazy night?"

He chuckled and gestured to the empty street. "You waiting for a cab?"

"If I can get one," she sighed.

Right on cue, a taxi came driving past them. Lupo whistled, but the car didn't stop. He sighed and turned to face her. "You know what, I'll drive you home."

"There's really no need," Connie said, waving a hand. "I can wait for the next one."

"No offense, Connie, but I don't think you should be waiting by yourself out here. It's getting pretty late."

He was nice about the fact that she was obviously tipsy. Connie relented. "All right. I owe you."

They walked down the street to his car and he started the engine, the headlights suddenly flashing. As Lupo fastened his seatbelt, he said, "You know, Lieu didn't even want us to throw his party for her in the first place."

"What made her come around?" Connie asked.

"I don't know," he smiled, "but I'm glad I'm not in trouble."

"I can see it already – Cyrus Lupo, the best party planner in the 27."

It was a stupid joke, but Lupo smiled anyway. Connie laughed, massaging her temple. "I think maybe I've had a little too much to drink," she admitted.

"Hey, we've all been there."

"The story about Bernard and the coffee – " Connie trailed off, laughing.

"Mike didn't seem as amused," Lupo smiled.

"Oh, Mike needs to work on his sense of humor," Connie sighed.

There was a long silence as Lupo continued on his way to Connie's apartment building. He made a left turn and slowed down as a few pedestrians made their way across the street. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he turned to Connie.

"Is something going on between…"

Connie raised an eyebrow.

He gave her a knowing look. She scoffed, pressing her face against the cold glass of the window.

"Of course not."

Lupo wished he hadn't asked. Thankfully, Connie's apartment building came into view, and he pulled over.

"Thanks for the ride," she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. She wasn't looking at him anymore.

Instinctively, he reached for her arm. "Connie…" he said.

She gave him a look he couldn't quite read.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to bring that up."

She continued staring at him, unmoving. Lupo didn't look away. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and he was suddenly aware that everything seemed very still. Her breath smelled like whiskey and a strand of her hair was slightly out of place and he was beginning to realize that she had never looked at him like this before.

He didn't know who made the first move, but suddenly, they kissed – briefly, almost accidentally. Connie pulled away, her breath still. Then he closed the gap between them, kissing sliding his hand through her hair. She pressed her hand to his chest, reaching up to run her thumb over his smooth jaw.

Connie drew back, inhaling deeply. She opened the passenger door, fumbling a little, stepped out, and hurried into her apartment building, without so much as a word.

* * *

The case seemed simple at first. Cassandra Walsh, a 22-year-old university student, was found behind a dumpster, shot and beaten to death. Her bloody scarf was found in Darren Scott's apartment. Scott had been her boyfriend for nearly two years, but the detectives heard from witnesses that the couple had been fighting the night she died. Lupo and Bernard cuffed the boyfriend, and Mike and Connie diligently prepped for trial, expecting to win. Then, the day before trial began, Cassandra's best friend, Anna O'Connor, came forward with the murder weapon and a full confession. Mike and Connie were still convinced that Scott was guilty, but the jury couldn't agree on a verdict and the judge eventually declared a mistrial.

Now, as the courtroom emptied, Mike muttered under his breath, "I know they're plotting something together."

"I guess we're just going to have to find out," Connie said with a sigh as she shuffled her papers into her briefcase.

They were both silent as they left the courtroom and walked into the elevator. Mike furrowed his brow, checking his watch as the doors dinged shut. Connie could tell he was disappointed – their last few cases at trial had ended up in a string of acquittals and 'not guilty' verdicts. The countless late nights spent at the office, studying police reports, rehashing minor details, prepping for opening and closing statements, seemed to have gone to waste now.

They were in Mike's office for all of five minutes before the defense attorney, Michelle Kates stepped in. Despite her petite frame and blonde pixie cut, her loud, raspy voice and impressive shoulder pads gave her the appearance of height.

"I'm not going to waste your time here," she said. "And I don't think you should waste it either. A retrial won't give you the results you want, Mike."

"I won't take a plea, if that's what you're offering," Mike said.

"Oh, come on," Michelle laughed. "You can't always win."

Mike shook his head. "No deal."

There was some back and forth until Michelle gave up and left, clucking her tongue. Moments later, Jack opened his office door. "Did I just hear what I think I heard?"

"We turned down Kates' plea," Connie said. "We think the boyfriend and the best friend are in it together."

Mike shrugged in agreement.

Jack studied them closely, lowering his glasses. "You know Kates is right," he said.

"Jack, just give us some more time to find out what really happened," Mike said.

Jack sighed. "Why do I feel like we've had this conversation before?"

"We'll be in here all night," Connie said, "starting from scratch. Jack, you know we'll figure this out."

"Ganging up on me, now, aren't we?" Jack scoffed. "Fine. I trust you both to clean up this mess. If not, take the plea. Let the next one be a winner."

With that, he shut his office door. Mike and Connie shared a look.

"Thanks for sticking up for me," Mike remarked. "Let's just say, he's been frustrated with my conviction rate, lately."

"You mean _our_ conviction rate?"

Mike chuckled. It was moments like these that he really appreciated Connie, moments like these when he wondered if he had a chance. That familiar old thought flickered through his mind, but, as usual, he pushed it out.

"I guess we'll be here for a few hours," he said, reaching into his desk drawer for the takeout menus. "Italian or Chinese?"

* * *

They were still working hours after Jack left, even after the rest of the office had cleared out. Finally, Mike checked his watch and yawned. "I need a drink," he said.

Connie looked up, surprised. Mike met her gaze.

"Coffee isn't going to cut it for me tonight," he said.

Their favorite bar was only a block away, so they walked, navigating through the noisy New York traffic.

It began to rain. Connie had her umbrella in her purse, and they huddled under it as they waited to cross the street. She caught a whiff of Mike's cologne and it made her uneasy, but another part of her appreciated the familiar smell.

They entered the bar and took a seat at a booth in the back. They ordered two Scotches on the rocks and began going over case details for the millionth time.

"I just know Darren and Anna conspired something," Mike muttered. "We just have to find a way to prove it."

"Think they were lovers?" Connie asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They had to be," Mike said. "That's what always happens – the best friend is secretly seeing the boyfriend. It's the ultimate act of betrayal."

"We don't know that," Connie murmured. "They went to the same school, but she's studying English and he's majoring in Computer Engineering. They don't have any of the same classes. There's no evidence they ever even crossed paths."

Eventually, it became clear they were just going in circles. Without any proof, it was all just speculation. Once their drinks arrived, Mike changed the subject.

"We can't do any more work at this point," he said, and took a sip of Scotch. "Tomorrow morning we'll go back to Cassandra's parents."

Connie sighed and bit her lip. Mike looked up, his brow furrowed.

"The more often we lose, the more I wonder if it's worth it," she said, staring into her drink. "If any of it is worth it."

"We all get disillusioned at some point," Mike said. "It's part of the job description."

She smiled in spite of herself. "You think that after three years, I'd get used to it."

To her surprise, Mike reached out and patted her arm. "I know I say this every time, but we're going to win this one, Connie. You're on my team, aren't you?"

She smiled and put her hand over his, instinctively, briefly. His hand was cold but smooth, and the movement felt almost natural to her.

Then, as if realizing what she was doing, Connie pulled away. Mike dropped his hand to his waist and cleared his throat.

"You're not thinking of leaving again, are you?"

She chuckled. "No. I think I've become too ingrained here to leave. Or maybe I'm just getting too attached."

"Counselors?" It was Bernard, with Lupo trailing behind him.

Connie felt herself stiffen at the sight of Lupo, and the memory of the other night came rushing back. She was flooded with guilt at the realization that she'd run out of his car without so much as an explanation. The truth was, she had never done anything so reckless before. Getting drunk at a work function, kissing a colleague – thinking back, it felt as if it had happened to someone else.

Since that night, she had been doing her best to forget it and act as normally as possible. And although she still didn't know what had come over her, but a tiny part of her didn't regret the kiss at all.

Connie wondered what the hell was going on. She hadn't been acting like herself lately. She made a mental promise to herself to regain control of her life. There would be no more hand-holding and make-out sessions with her co-workers – it was time to start acting like an adult.

"I'm guessing you two haven't had an easy night, either," Mike remarked. "Care to join us?"

Lupo and Bernard ordered beers, and sat down at the booth. Lupo's thigh brushed up against Connie's. Neither of them looked at each other.

As usual, the topic of conversation turned to work. The detectives had discovered a body earlier that day, a middle-aged woman who was stabbed to death in an alleyway. They had yet to identify her, but since the killer had left behind her credit cards and cash, it was starting to look like a plain old revenge killing.

Mike pretended to listen as he stared into his drink. Although he and Connie had agreed to stop talking about the Walsh case, his mind was still racing – he knew there was a large piece of the puzzle missing, something too important to miss.

Mike glanced up at Connie. As much as work was tiring him out, he almost didn't mind the mountainous piles of paperwork, the greasy takeout boxes from Chef Ho, the late-night bar hops. In a way, he looked forward to them, to it just being the two of them in his office – slaving over files, sharing dipping sauce for eggrolls, dissecting case details into the dead of the night.

He grimaced as he thought back to twenty minutes ago, when he'd touched Connie's arm. It wasn't as if Mike had never touched her before – there had always been friendly pats on the shoulder, elbow nudges, the occasional accidental brushing of their fingers. This time felt different, however – more affectionate, more intimate. This time, she had reciprocated.

Suddenly, Lupo stood up. "I'm going to get another beer," he said.

Connie saw her chance. She slid out the booth. "Me too."

They headed to the bar together. Connie reached for her purse, but Lupo laid a hand on her arm. "It's on me," he said, pulling a few bills out of his wallet. "It's the least I could do."

"Thanks," she murmured. "Cyrus, about the other night…"

"I'm sorry," he said, suddenly looking solemn. "It was completely unprofessional."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "You know, I'm sorry too."

He paused and cast his eyes down, smirking a little. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't thought about it before, though."

"Cyrus." Her eyes widened a little.

"I know, I know," he said with a smile. "Are we still friends?"

Connie couldn't help but return the smile.


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Walsh was a mousy, timid woman, the kind who seemed perpetually afraid of everyone and everything. She invited Mike and Connie into the house, and as they sat down on the couch, she said, "I've already told you everything I know."

"There will be a retrial, Mrs. Walsh," Connie said. "We just want to make sure we're ready – if _you're _ready."

"We believe they're conspiring," Mike said, leaning forward. "I need to know if there's anything you remember that could help us."

Mrs. Walsh seemed on the verge of tears. "I already gave my testimony," she said, "and now you want me to dredge up all these terrible memories! The defense dragged Cassie's name through the mud!"

"Mrs. Walsh, please," Connie said, "we all want the same thing here. It would be best for you to cooperate."

"Or else _what?_"

"Or else you might be charged with obstruction of justice," Mike said, solemnly, "and I really don't want to do that."

Mrs. Walsh closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. "I don't even know if it'll mean anything to you," she murmured.

"Whatever it is, we'd like to hear it," Connie said.

She opened her eyes. "It's just one of those things that you don't realize right away," she muttered. "I was at brunch with my husband, right before trial started, at this restaurant on Lexington, and across the street is a Marriott. I saw Darren and Anna outside of that hotel, hugging, and she got into a cab and drove away. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I thought he might be comforting her, after what happened to Cassandra."

Mike shared a look with Connie. Their speculations were right – Darren and Anna seemed to be more than just close friends.

"Will I have to testify again?" Mrs. Walsh asked.

"Probably," Connie said. "And you might have to bring up what you just told us."

Mrs. Walsh's lower lip trembled. "I don't know if I…if I could do that again. It was hard enough being badgered by that defense attorney."

"I trust that you'll re-testify, if you want justice for your daughter," Mike said. "You have my number – we'll be in touch."

Next stop was the Marriott, where Mike and Connie showed the hotel staff pictures of Darren and Anna. The concierges at the front desk were no help, and neither was the manager.

"We get a lot of people coming through here," he shrugged. "Sorry I can't be of more help. Maybe ask the bellhops outside."

They got lucky with a bellhop in front of the hotel, who happened to be unloading luggage from a taxi. Mike showed him the pictures, and his eyebrows rose in recognition. "Yup, I know them," he said as he threw suitcases onto a luggage carrier. "They used to come in about once a week. They were all over each other, in the lobby, in the elevator."

"Do you remember anything about them? Anything that stuck out?"

"Yeah," the bellhop replied, "they were lousy tippers."

Mike and Connie left the Marriott, invigorated by the new eyewitness accounts. "I think it's pretty obvious what we're dealing with here," Mike said, excitedly. "Darren and Anna were involved and decided to get rid of the one thing in the way of their relationship."

"So they should have been honest with her," Connie scoffed. "Why did they have to resort to murder?"

"They're young, naïve students," Mike said. "They didn't think they had any choice left."

"You know, there's only one person who could have shot her," Connie said.

They reached an intersection, and Mike turned to face Connie. "Darren beat up Cassandra – the abrasions on her neck, they're consistent with someone who has large hands. Anna's only 5'4'' and 100 pounds, no way she could have taken down her best friend. He roughed her up a little, and Anna pulled the trigger."

"We just have to prove they were conspiring, that it was premeditated," Connie said. "There was no evidence found in their bedrooms, no proof of any correspondence leading up to the murder."

"Yeah…" He trailed off, deep in thought.

Suddenly, Connie grabbed his arm, staring at something across the street. "Mike."

He followed her gaze to an Internet café. "Just a few blocks from the hotel," he murmured.

The waitress at the café didn't remember Darren or Anna, but the manager did. He studied the pictures closely. "I think I saw them, but at different times," he said. "The girl came in every Saturday and the boy was in here Tuesdays."

"They used the same computer?"

"Yeah, the one in the corner over there." He pointed to the back of the room. "You're not going to take it with you, are you?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"You need a warrant!" the manager blustered.

"You won't mind waiting?" Mike asked. He nodded at Connie, who slipped outside to make the phone call.

Within the hour, the warrant was brought over and the computer was transported back to the lab. The official report would be done by the end of the day.

"Mike, this is great," Connie said as they left the café. "We already have proof that Darren and Anna were involved, and if we can show that they were conspiring to kill Cassandra, we can offer Anna man one."

"And Darren?"

"If your theory is correct, he didn't actually pull the trigger. At best, it's aggravated assault."

"He brutally attacked her, Connie. He had the intent to harm, and he made her death an even more painful one."

"But his assault didn't directly result in her death – it was the gunshot."

"Let's wait and see what we dig up on the computer," Mike said. "Killing Cassandra had to be _someone's_ idea."

"And if they refuse to implicate each other?"

He cocked his head. "Then we do what we do best – bluff."

* * *

By five o'clock, Mike and Connie were at the precinct to pick up the report from the computer. They were greeted by Lupo, who handed over a copy of the report.

"They corresponded over email," he said. "But they shared an account."

"Meaning…"Connie murmured, her eyes scanning the page.

"Meaning they wrote emails to each other and left them in the drafts folder for the other to read. There are emails consistent with the dates you said – Darren on Tuesdays, Anna on Saturdays."

"'I always wanted you, not her,'" Mike read out loud. "'Do you think we can make her go away forever?'"

"Sounds like Darren," Connie said.

Mike flipped back a few pages. "The rest of it is just them bitching about Cassandra…and, uh, a few other sordid details."

"He was the one who wanted to kill Cassandra," Connie cried, skimming the emails. "He convinced Anna to use the gun, to implicate herself for him."

"They were counting on a mistrial," Mike said, meeting Connie's eyes. "They knew how it would look if both of them came forward."

"Mistrial, my ass," Connie said. "Thanks, Cyrus."

Lupo watched as Mike and Connie rushed out the precinct, heads bent in deep conversation. Lupo and Connie had continued to maintain their professional relationship since the night in the car – yet, whenever Lupo saw her and Mike, he felt something nagging at him from the bottom of his stomach.

So he hadn't completely regretted that kiss. She was Connie, for God's sake – heads turned every time she walked into the precinct. Lupo himself had been working with her for two years now, and he had always harbored a harmless little crush. But up until the other night, he'd never expected anything to come of it.

Lupo returned to his desk just as his cell phone began to ring. It was Jenny.

He frowned, staring at her name flashing on the screen. He hadn't talked to his sister-in-law in months. There hadn't been much to talk about, after Tom's death, and after the whole thing ended, he continued to do his share, driving Carly and Jude to school, buying them birthday presents, helping them with their homework. As time passed, however, Jenny seemed to settle into single parenthood. The last time he saw her was at Carly's tenth birthday party, and since then, the phone calls had tapered off and the visits became less frequent.

Lupo's guilty conscience gave in. "Hello?"

She paused. "Cyrus?"

He stood up and left the squad room, slipping into a quiet hallway instead. "Jenny," he said, "it's been a while."

She was crying. "Sorry to bother you at work, it's just – "

"Jenny? What's wrong?"

"It's Carly," she wept. "I think…I think somebody's kidnapped her."


End file.
